Godfather
by Danko Kaji
Summary: The King of Baron raises little Cecil with tough love. FFIV. Pre-game. Gen. Hints of Cecil/Rosa.


_Originally posted for the Livejournal community FF_Zodiac._

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><p>In the cobblestone courtyard, the King of Baron does not wear his golden crown and royal cardinal cape. He stands every inch a warrior, grey armor glistening silver in all its sunlit splendor and glory. The kind of knight Cecil dreams to become, and counts his blessings he squires under the King himself.<p>

Cecil holds his wooden sword with two hands, eight years old and struggling to lift. His knees quake and his palms sweat, yet his blue eyes behold a brilliant light akin to determination.

"Frankly, I am surprised," the man says, slicing the silence with a steady sweep of his sword arm. "I imagined you more a mage, like your father. You did not agree to train solely at your King's command, did you?" The jest belies his deep tone, left unheard by the boy's passionate airs.

"No, milord! I want to be strong. Kain squired under his father, Commander of the Dragoons, and so... I thought... I'd like to fight, too..."

Quiet and docile, this child, and His Majesty smiles beneath his glaring eyes, amused by the beginnings of a competitive streak. "Ah. I see. But know this: to become a Dark Knight, you must not only train your body, but your mind and heart as well. Tell me, Cecil. Do you love your mother and father?"

"My King?" Cecil feigns a polite question to mask his loneliness.

"It is alright to confess if you don't. I will understand. You see, Cecil, your father died in the name of his beliefs and your mother died shortly after you were born. I am telling you this, because you are their living legacy. Never mistake the love your parents had for each other, and most importantly their love for you. Take that grief and resentment, which nests in your heart and turn it into strength. A Dark Knight grabs ahold of his weaknesses and wields them as his sword and shield.

"I know you admire little Rosa and her mother for training in the White arts. You have the heart and compassion for it, but someday you will grow into a man and you will want to protect the ones you love. You need only look at Rosa's parents to know they give each other strength while protecting each other's weaknesses. That is the true way to fight in this world."

Cecil drinks in every word with awe and reverence. Innocent energy glitters in his eyes, which prompts him to voice an honest, simple wish. "Then can I be just like them? Rosa can heal _me_ and I can shield _her_ and we can fight _together_ - like a team!"

The King chuckles. "Why, of course. Nothing is stopping you."

"Also, may I swear an oath, milord?"

"Certainly."

"...with your sword, if I may, milord."

"Cecil, this is not a toy."

"I'm aware, Your Majesty." He bows his head and spreads his hands, back straight and stiff. "May I?"

"...You may."

To accommodate his short height, the King takes to one knee and holds the blade flat on his armored palms. Cecil receives his lord godfather's grace and nods.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." His feet falter, arms trembling to maneuver its weight. Point-down, runic metal stands straight on unyielding stone and Cecil strains to hold it upright, kneeling only to discover his arms are not long enough for his knees to touch the ground.

"Kneel as low as you are able."

Cecil heeds his words and casts aside the underlying soft concern, submitting himself to the humblest form of loyalty. Forehead pressed on the dusk-colored blade, his small body almost hugs the steel for how close he kneels with his short arms stretching beyond its limitations. This pose seems improper and sloppy compared to when adult knights commit the act, but Cecil doesn't care. He wants the thought to matter and he wants his King to know.

Cecil recalls back on the days His Majesty allowed him the treat to sit on the Queen's vacant throne and every day villagers would arrive before the King for his audience. Among each group therein lies at least one man who wanted to enlist as a soldier and each Baron knight-hopeful always weaved the same sentiment into the same old words.

Taking a deep breath, his mouth forms words from the memory.

"From this day forth, I-I... I pledge my undying loyalty to you, my King. I will devote my entire life, no... I _give _you my life, because you gave me mine. I want to protect you until the day I die." Cecil breathes, inhaling and exhaling long strokes of newborn faith before lifting his eyes from the darkness to bask in the light of his liege.

To find his liege lord smiling.


End file.
